by Rose, Emery
“Sasha drank a lot of vodka.” It was true. He drank too much, but I’d never seen him drunk. He said it was in his genes, that vodka flowed in his veins instead of blood. “His name was Alexander Petrov. His friends and family called him Sasha.”
I saw the flicker of recognition in Deacon’s eyes. He’d probably read about it. The story had been all over the news for weeks. I had to read about it from afar. The day after my high school graduation, before we knew whether Sasha was dead or alive, my father had whisked me and my mother away on a grand tour of Europe. He’d purposefully extended the trip so I wouldn’t be able to attend the funeral. The day they found Sasha’s body, I was sailing somewhere off the Amalfi Coast.
“What happened to Sasha?” Deacon asked, although I suspected he already knew the answer.
“He was killed.”
“The cross you wear around your neck. It’s from Sasha?” Deacon asked. It was tucked inside the collar of my T-shirt like it always was, but Deacon must have noticed it before.
I nodded. The black and gold Russian Orthodox crucifix was gaudy, not really Sasha’s style, and hung on a thick gold chain. It was his good luck charm. A talisman against evil forces. When he took it off his own neck and put it around mine on my eighteenth birthday, I knew he would regret it. Sasha wasn’t generous, not with his heart or his feelings or his possessions but for some unknown reason he had given me his cross. He used to say that we were alike, two sides of the same coin. But I never wanted to believe him. “He gave it to me five months before he died. Sometimes I think that if he hadn’t, he would still be alive.”
“Keira.” That was all he said, his voice soft as he took my hands in his and pulled me out of my chair. “You don’t believe that.”
He studied my face as if it was vitally important to him that I didn’t believe it. He probably wasn’t the superstitious type. Logically, I knew it wasn’t true. A religious icon couldn’t protect the wearer. Still, I clung to my superstitions.
“Of course not. It’s just a silly superstition.” My tone was breezy and dismissive. I could tell that Deacon wasn’t fooled, but he let it go.
“How’ve you been?” he asked, sounding as if he genuinely cared. I thought maybe he did. Our lives were weirdly intertwined. Deacon had saved Killian’s life in a shoot-out. Dramatic, I know. He’d also saved Connor a few years back. Instead of busting him for drug possession like he could have, Deacon had called Killian who had gotten Connor into rehab. My brothers weren’t easily impressed by anyone but to hear them talk, Deacon Ramsey was a superhero. They not only respected him, they felt they owed him a debt of gratitude they could never repay.
“Same old, same old. Currently nursing my melancholy with ice-cold vodka in the light of a full moon. Come back later and I’ll be howling at it.”
He laughed and turned my hand over so he could read the words inked on my skin. Goosebumps pricked my arms and warmth spread through my body as he traced the letters with his fingertip like I’d done so many times. He was so close I could smell his subtle spicy scent. Something warm and woodsy. Cedar and citrus. Bergamot, maybe? It didn’t matter. He smelled good. So good that I wanted to burrow my face in his neck and breathe him in. As if reading my thoughts, he tugged me closer. His eyes flitted to my mouth. Maybe he was remembering the feel of my lips against his.
I flattened my palms on his hard chest and leaned into him. Heat rolled off him, making my body feel flushed. I could feel the warmth of his skin through the fabric of his T-shirt, his heart beating a steady rhythm under my fingertips. Deacon was the calm to my storm. The kind of man you could rely on to be there for you, to keep you safe and protect you. It confused me that I’d want that from him when I’d never wanted it from anyone before.
I wanted him, but I didn’t want to want him.
“I shouldn’t be here.” He wrapped his hands around my wrists. He had good hands. Strong and capable-looking with thick veins. I bet when he held a gun, they didn’t even tremble. I bet they were sure and steady, and he didn’t so much as break a sweat.
“And yet, here you are. Why are you here?”
“I’ve missed your funny face.” He made slow, lazy circles on my inner wrists with the pads of his thumbs. The softest touch was often the most powerful.
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“Miss me?” he teased.
More than I should have. “You never crossed my mind.”
“You crossed mine. Hundreds of times.” His voice was low and rough, seducing me with his raw honesty.
“Hundreds?” I laughed. “I didn’t take you for the kind of guy who uses hyperboles.”
“I’m not.”
Oh. Well. I looked down at his hands that were still wrapped around my wrists, my palms still pressed against his chest as if I was warding him off yet wanting to remain close enough to feel the beating of his heart.
“Hold Me Down” by Halsey blasted from my speakers, muting the sounds of the city, the hum of traffic on the street and the lonely wail of a siren in the distance. I stared at his slightly parted lips, the bottom lip fuller than the top and fought the urge to sink my teeth into it.
“What did you think of when you thought of me?”
He moved his hand to my neck and around to the back of it, threading his fingers through my hair until it was wrapped around his hand. His mouth moved close to the shell of my ear, his voice low. “How much I fucking love your hair.”
Of all the things he could have thought about, he thought about my hair. My wild, untamed hair was thick and wavy and brown with honey and caramel highlights. It wasn’t glossy like my mother’s or quite as dark as Connor and Killian’s. But for some reason, Deacon loved it.
I remembered the cold, gray December day I’d dragged him into the yellow, copper-domed Russian Orthodox cathedral. I had knelt on the kneeler and he had stayed sitting on the wooden pew, our eyes trained on the crucifix behind the altar. My hands had been folded as if in prayer, his hand tugging on the elastic to free my hair from its loose topknot. When my hair had tumbled down, he’d run his fingers through it. Stroked it softly. His touch so gentle I’d nearly wept. It had felt so good that I’d closed my eyes and prayed he would never stop.
Two or maybe five or ten minutes later, the feelings had overwhelmed me, and I hadn’t known what to do with them. I had walked out of the cathedral and left him sitting in the pew. I’d walked briskly, intent on getting away but my feet refused to cooperate. Which was why he found me huddled in my Moncler jacket, the fur-trimmed hood covering my head as I sat on the cold, concrete steps, my gaze focused on the bare branches in McCarren Park across the street. He bought me a hot coffee to warm my hands and a gyro from a street truck. I ate it while I watched him play basketball on a cracked court near a housing development with a bunch of teens from Killian’s at-risk-youth program. When I told him he was good with the kids, he said he was a foster kid until the Ramsey’s adopted him at eight. He knew what it was like to feel like nobody gave a shit about you.
I think I fell a little bit in love with him that day.
“You should go,” I said, even though I didn’t want him to go and made no move to distance myself from him.
“What do you really want, Keira?”
People rarely asked me what I wanted, but Deacon always had. “I want you to kiss me.”
He walked me backward until my back hit the brick wall and caged me in his arms, his palms pressed flat on either side of me. We’d been here before. Not in this exact place. In Killian and Eden’s loft. Their Christmas tree sparkling with lights, the snow falling outside the wall of windows, the Manhattan skyline lit up like New Year’s Eve.
Now, Deacon studied my face, seeing too much of what I wanted to hide. He cupped my chin in his hand and dragged his thumb over my lower lip. I bit his finger. He chuckled softly like it was the most adorable thing ever. His mouth moved closer to mine and I looped my arms around his neck. I was sure we must have been breathing, but it felt like we weren�
��t. Like this moment was suspended in time and everything around us had ceased to exist. His eyes were open, trying to read something in mine, so I closed them. His lips ghosted over mine. Just a whisper of a kiss. Like a soft breeze. You couldn’t even call it a kiss. I could have urged him to hurry, taken the matter into my own hands and kissed him breathless. But I didn’t. I kept my eyes closed and my hands still, exhibiting a patience I didn’t know I possessed.
His hands moved to the sides of my face and he tilted it. Then he kissed me. Not on the lips. In the sensitive hollow between my neck and shoulder, his lips warm and soft but firm, the scruff on his jaw scraping against my skin and sending delicious tingles up and down my spine. He trailed kisses up my neck and along my jawbone, his masterful hands cradling my face as if it was made of glass and he alone could prevent it from shattering.
Finally, his mouth captured mine. His tongue parted the seam of my lips and I let him in. Our tongues tangled together in a crazy dance with no steady beat or rhythm. The length of his hard body pressed against mine, the brick scraping against my lower back as his hands explored my curves and edges. I rocked my hips against him, and he groaned into my mouth, his hand fisting my hair. I never wanted to stop kissing him.
From somewhere far away I heard a ringtone and it took me a few seconds to realize it was his cell phone. He released me and pressed his forehead against mine, both of us trying to catch our breath, before he took a step back, taking his warmth with him. I swallowed and tried to regulate my breathing while he checked his phone then silenced the call before he pocketed it.
“I need to go.” He ran his hand through his hair and looked out at that big pink moon, trying to gather his thoughts. His gaze returned to me, his intense green eyes laser-focused. “I need you to promise me you’ll give up street racing.”
Maybe that was the real reason, the only reason, he came over tonight. To secure a promise I’d never keep. “I promise,” I said, meeting his eyes with a smile as I lied to his face.
Deacon sealed my lie with a bruising kiss on my lips. “Such a pretty liar. I’ll see you soon.” Then he strode away, cool as you like. And just like that, he was gone. Again.
I sagged against the wall and wrapped my arms around myself, running my tongue over my kiss-swollen lips that tasted like him.
4
Keira
“Is it my imagination or does Keira have an afterglow?” Ava asked, taking a sip of her chai latte as I joined her and Eden at a window table in Brickwood Coffee.
Eden inspected my face more closely while I sipped my iced coffee laced with coconut milk as if I had nothing to hide. When I woke up this morning, I had Deacon on the brain. Damn him.
“Looks like stubble burn,” she said finally.
“I got new face cream. It must be an allergic reaction.”
They snorted in unison, not believing a word of my lie. I drank my coffee and minded my own business, hoping they’d just drop the subject. But I knew they wouldn’t. One of their missions in life was to find me a boyfriend, even though I’d told them on numerous occasions that I wasn’t interested. They claimed that everyone was secretly looking for a relationship. I’d given up trying to make them understand that I was not everyone. Deep down, I knew they did understand. To love my brothers, you had to be a special kind of person. Ava and Eden were special. Loyal, strong, they loved fiercely but didn’t put up with any bullshit. They were gorgeous, too. Eden looked like a surfer girl with her golden hair and tanned skin. Ava was edgier with platinum hair, porcelain skin, and kohl-rimmed gray eyes.
“I thought you had a date with Netflix last night,” Ava said, her eyes narrowed on me in accusation. “You needed some time and space. Alone.” She and Connor had invited me over to ‘hang out and chill’ with a movie and pizza but I’d begged off saying I wanted an early night. I wasn’t about to tell them about the illegal street racing. Now I had another secret. Deacon. Ironic, considering that I’d come to Brooklyn intent on living an honest life. As if that was possible.
“So, who is he?” Ava prompted. She wasn’t about to let this go.
I knew I couldn’t tell them but keeping secrets from Ava and Eden wasn’t easy. We were more than friends, we were family.
Since I couldn’t tell them the truth, I opted for a diversion. “Are you nervous about next Saturday?” I asked Eden.
Eden arched a brow. “I see what you’re doing.” I did want to change the subject, but I really wanted to know if she was nervous. Not about the flowers or the caterers or the venue which would all be perfect, but about exchanging vows. Pledging to love and honor someone for the rest of your life. “But as long as you’re happy, that’s all we really care about.”
“Actually, that’s not true. We still want to know who you were with last night.”
“But we respect your privacy.” They looked at me eagerly, still hoping for information I had no intention of providing.
“Anything you tell us won’t go beyond this coffee shop,” Ava said, in a last-ditch attempt to get me talking.
Anything I told them would go straight back to my brothers. And while I trusted them, I couldn’t risk it. I knew the deal. The more people who knew, the greater the chance that someone would inadvertently leak the truth and blow Deacon’s cover. That was why my father had always kept his circle small and his life compartmentalized. He had kept his private life and his business dealings separate. But even that had blown up in his face. The person he had trusted most, the man who’d been his ‘fixer,’ had betrayed him. Anthony. He had handed me the flash drive. It still wasn’t clear why he’d done it, although I would like to think he did it for me.
After he’d handed over the information, he ghosted. Another person in my life I’d probably never see again.
Ava and Eden dropped the topic and moved on to wedding planning. The wedding was one week from today and everything was already organized, but that didn’t stop us from going over every detail again.
“In answer to your question,” Eden said, long after I thought she’d forgotten my question. “I’m not nervous about marrying Killian because I know he’s the one. And I want to spend the rest of my life with him.”
Despite the heat, I shuddered. It sounded like a prison sentence. Prison.
Eden noticed my reaction. “One day you’ll meet a guy who is perfect for you and you’ll know it’s right. Which is not to say he’ll be perfect. There’s no such thing. Just that he’ll be the right guy for you.”
“Or, in my case,” Ava said. “You’ll meet the guy who is perfect for you, it will all go epically wrong, but ten years and a million second chances later, you’ll find a way to make it right.”
I smiled. “And it was all worth it.”
“I could have done without some parts of our history, but yeah, Connor is worth it.”
“He’s the one,” Eden said with a smile.
“My one and only. Nobody else would put up with him,” Ava joked. “But I swear to God, if that personal trainer at the gym doesn’t stop drooling over him whenever he comes in to work out, I’m going to scratch her eyeballs out.”
Eden and I laughed.
“Speaking of the one…” Ava pulled up one of the many spreadsheets on her iPad that she used to organize the wedding planning. “The only person who hasn’t RSVPd is Deacon Ramsey,” she said, with a sly smile.
“It would mean a lot to Killian if he’d come,” Eden said.
“Weird how he just disappeared like that,” Ava mused.
“He’s probably gone undercover,” Eden said.
They both directed their gazes at me, fishing for information I had no intention of providing. I shrugged. “No idea. I barely knew the guy.” Which was not a total lie. Although in some ways I did know him. My cheeks flushed. Afterglow. The heat. Call it what you want.
“You guys hung out a few times,” Ava pointed out. “And there was a lot of flirting going on. I was with you in that pawn shop the first time you met.” She laughed at the me
mory. “That was a crazy day.”
I couldn’t disagree. I seemed to bring crazy with me wherever I went.
“Too bad he’s not around. He would have been perfect for you. Just about the only guy Killian would approve of,” Eden said. “Not that you need his approval.”
Ava snorted. “You really need to rein him in. Whenever a guy even looks at Keira, he looks like he’s about to rip them limb from limb. And let’s face it, any guy with a pulse looks at Keira.”
“That’s how he rolls. He’s protective.” She turned her focus on me. “But he adores you and he’d be happy for you if you met a guy you really liked. As long as he’s not a douchebag but you’re too smart to put up with that crap.”
“What are you looking for in a guy?” Ava asked, scoping out the guys in the coffee shop. It was a hipster haven for bearded guys in skinny jeans and ironic T-shirts. She quickly dismissed the notion of finding the perfect guy for me in here and focused her attention on me, waiting for an answer.
“I’m not looking for a guy.”
“Just sex?”
“And stubble burn.”
I rolled my eyes while they cracked up. Although they weren’t wrong. That was all I wanted, but the guy I wanted it from was not in this coffee shop. I didn’t even know where he was living. Or when I’d see him next. Or even if I’d see him again. Would he just disappear like he did last time?